Underneath the sweater, a snug charcoal tee left his toned arms on display, hinting at a similarly fit chest. Not that I was looking. Nope. I handed his coat back, and he pushed his arms through the sleeves again. Then he held my trench as I slipped his sweater over my head. Warm cable knit smelled like concentrated laundry soap and a hint of something uniquely Callum, woodsy and rich, enveloping me in comfort.
